Friday, May 7, 2010

With the current success of the egg retrieval one week behind us, Jade and I have been patiently (anxiously) sitting by our big red phone, waiting for the call from the reproductive endocrinologist (pooty doctor) with what we hope will be good news noose (Freudian slip) regarding our fertilization report (bun in the oven).

Here's how our stats break down:

They harvested 33 eggs from Mother Hen, 21 of which were mature enough to proceed to the next step - FERTILIZATION!!

Of the 21 fertilized, 18 eggs were a success!! I immediately began formulating my plans to make a baseball team, a family band and my own personal entourage when Jade informed me that we'd only be implanting 2. BLAST! I immediately began reconstructing my plan. I'd form a tandem bicycling team, a small vaudeville act and a slightly smaller and more intimate version of my previous entourage. SUCCESS!!

Because we had so many successfully fertilize, our embryologist recommended that we freeze 10 and let the remaining 8 continue to develop for a five day transfer. We both casually nodded our heads, completely oblivious to what she was talking about. Personally, I couldn't get the phrase, "Doctor Lady say smart thing. We do. Baby, fun, soft, pink." out of my head.

She told us to show up on Monday.

While we drove home, I spaced out (these new cars pretty much run themselves, anyway) thinking that, somewhere out there, somewhere behind me, there were these little things...they were part Jade and they were part me and they were sort of neither of us. I started thinking about how making babies is like macaroni and cheese. Yes, the crunchy noodles are good when eaten plain. Yes, the powdered cheese is a little dusty but oh so tasty. Yes, they're each good individually but doesn't the the real magic come from the perfect union of the two substances coming together in a near divine concoction of pasta that you want to curl up with and snuggle?

We had, for all intents and purposes, reproduced.

Whoa.

Alas, Monday morning arrives and we show up at nine bells, ready and willing to be impregnated.

Based on previous discussions with us, they had already prepped our two grade As - no sense turning my wife's sausage storage into a clown car. The embryologist (who was standing behind this weird Mr. Ed type door, staring down Jade's wazoo) said our little chicklet babies were "textbook" and were ranked 8AB - the highest grade she gives. I could tell that Jade was already gushing with maternal pride when the lady turned to me and said, "These are great eggs. GREAT eggs. That's no offense to the sperm, but these are GREAT eggs". I just smiled and laughed but thought, "I'd like to see you do what you do without me, lady".

That said, without further ado.........behold........our blastocyte spawns and a weird looking penis shape!

Now join with us, won't you, and cross every part of the body you can - fingers, toes, eyes - and believe that Jezuz-Pleazuz, we will see a miracle.

5
comments:

Wow 18 is an incredible number...you guys are so lucky!!! And what beautiful blastocytes you two have created! Can't wait to hear the fabulous news tomorrow...thinking of you guys, get ready to celebrate:)

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Putting the fun in infertility? But there is no fun in infertility. To which we respond: EXACTLY.

We are John and Jade Brookbank and thanks to testicular cancer we don't have a nut between us, which means we'll just have to procreate the old fashioned way - through the miracle of test tube babies...and if that doesn't work we'll roll the dice on a turkey baster and a prayer.

INFERTILITY DOES NOT DEFINE US

A FUN RECAP

March 26, 2001An ill-fated meeting. The next four years marks a bizarre romance so sickly sweet I don't even dare to blog about it.

March 26, 2005Tied the noose! Decided to put off having kids for a while, as we were still pretty much kids ourselves, and jump start our careers. Plus we were having too much fun languishing in our independent and irresponsible young adult life.

Early 2008Started tentatively dropping hints to each other about it getting to be THAT time. Baby fever starts to silently creep into the psyche.